Chapter 25

Ash

"All right?" Jackson asks.

I eye my overprotective partner, who's currently attempting to fluff the pillow behind my back. "Fine," I say mildly.

"Comfy enough?"

"Jack."

"Just checking," he says, letting the pillow go.

"Mhm. Get back in bed with me."

"After I—"

" Jack ."

He sighs, sliding into bed in his jeans. He leans against my side as we sit at the headboard, his fingers toying lightly with the material of my pajama pants. "Coffee all right?"

"It's great," I tell him before taking another sip. Luckily, I'm able to use my dominant hand. It's my left arm that's currently resting in a sling, all but useless for the time being. "What're you doing today?"

Jackson fidgets, his own coffee waiting in a thermos on his nightstand. "Figured I'd take it easy. We're not too busy right now, so—"

"Jackson Darling," I warn, setting my coffee down before turning to him. "It's been a week. I'm fine . You need to go back to work."

He huffs. "Everybody's always telling me I work too hard, and now I'm not working hard enough? Can't win around here."

I refrain from rolling my eyes. "You've been babying me, Jack. I—"

Jackson swings over my legs, causing my words to dry up. He settles gently on my thighs, barely giving me his weight, his hands coming to rest along the sides of my neck. His focus is absolute, eyes bright and so very blue as they ping between my own. "You dislocated your shoulder. Threw out your back trying to get up that hill one-handed. You got a mild concussion. Had scrapes and bruises all over your body."

"Most of which healed in a few days," I say softly.

He shakes his head once, lips in a firm line. "I'm talking now."

"Oh, you are, are you?" I snark.

His kisses me hard, a quick press of lips meant to shut me up. I hate to admit how well it works.

When he leans back, he holds my gaze, and I keep quiet.

"You were battered and bruised, and you're still healing," Jackson says. "I'm allowed to take care of you. I'm allowed to care . I get that you don't wanna be treated like a child, but you're not, Ash. You're a grown-ass man who had his ass handed to him. What kind of partner would I be if that didn't affect me?"

I swallow roughly.

"So you're gonna let me look after you," he goes on, tone unyielding. "You don't gotta like it, but you're gonna do it. We clear?"

I let out a breath, hand sliding up Jackson's side. "Yessir."

"Nuh-uh," he says, easing back. "None of that."

"Jack," I groan, trying to snag his shirt before he can get too far.

He evades me. "Nope."

"It's been a week ."

"The doctor said you needa relax," he says, slipping off the bed and grabbing his thermos.

"Orgasms are relaxing," I defend.

"Maybe later," he says, making my pulse jump. "If you're good."

"If I'm… Oh, fuck you! That shit doesn't work on me like it works on you," I call.

Jackson simply chuckles as he rounds the doorway into the hall. A beat later, he yells, "Get some rest, Ash. I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

"All I've been doing is resting," I mutter to myself, resituating and wincing as pain flares along my spine. And maybe he has a point. "Fuck."

As Jackson heads off to work the ranch, I grab my coffee and my phone. There's a text from Nicholas, telling me he heard what happened and that he hopes I'm doing okay. He included a couple recommendations for physio places nearby, which, honestly, shows a lot of restraint on his part. In the past, he would have drafted up an entire outline for my recovery period.

Accepting the olive branch for what it is, I send a thank-you, not at all surprised the news of my injury made it through the country club grapevine back in Maine.

I am a little surprised when, a second later, I get a returned text. It's a picture of Nicholas next to…a dog? Included are the words, " Meet Smokey, the new you. "

I bark a laugh, a smile pulling at my lips. Shaking my head, I message back, wishing Nicholas and Smokey the best before closing out the text thread. I check the early morning voicemail from my mom next. She says she booked her flight for the end of the year, and she's looking forward to seeing me. Truth be told, I'm looking forward to seeing her, too. She was worried, of course, when I called to tell her what happened. But I convinced her to wait and fly out for the holidays instead of coming now.

Hopefully, by that point, I'll be all healed up.

Letting out a sigh, I swing myself slowly out of bed. The sling on my left arm is more annoying than anything. I remove it to get dressed and replace it before washing my coffee mug with one hand. Then I slip my feet into boots and go for a walk.

The air is crisp but the sun bright as I make my way around the property, no particular destination in mind. Marigold insisted I take time off to recover, and how could I argue when I'm not supposed to be using my arm? They managed just fine for nearly six months before I came along. Surely they can manage for another week or so.

My feet bring me over to the petting farm. It's too early to be open to the public, but I let myself in through the double gates, leaning down to hand out scritches to the goats that run over. Their rectangular pupils gaze up at me, so odd and endearing. I chuckle as their ears flop around, insistent tongues running repeatedly over my hand.

"Figured I'd find you here," a voice calls.

"Ginnie," I answer, standing up as my friend comes into the pen. Her hair is in twin braids today, the brown curls semi-tamed. "Were you looking for me long?"

"Only a minute," she says. "I figured I'd either find you here with the kids or over at Jackson's. I tried here first."

I huff a laugh. "Sounds weird when you say kids like that."

She smirks at me. "Are you officially moved in yet?"

I nearly stumble. "I'm not moved in at all," I tell her, pulling my shirt out of the teeth of a particularly forward goat. "I've just been staying at Jackson's—"

"For the past week—"

"While I recovered, yes," I finish.

Virginia raises an eyebrow. "And you're honestly gonna tell me you plan to sleep in the ranch house again once you're metaphorically back on your feet?"

Honestly , I hadn't thought about it at all.

"I don't know, Ginnie," I say, moving my arm aside as Snickerdoodle bumps into me. I give her some attention with my good hand. "I mean, it's not like he's even asked me to stay. For good, I mean."

"Uh-huh," she mutters, walking over to look at the chickens. Most of them are pecking at the ground, head floofs bobbing as they pick up seed that fell out of their feeders. "Well, when he does ask, officially , I mean—and he will—I'll try not to gloat."

"Well, aren't you generous," I mumble.

She shoots me a toothy grin. "C'mon, baby boy. Let's go grab some lunch. On me."

"Oh, uh… I was just going to eat here."

Her eyebrow shoots up again. "You haven't left the ranch in a week. Some fresh air would do you good."

I refrain from saying yes, Mom , instead waving my hand around pointedly. "Sure. Because this air right here is so very stifling."

She examines me closely. "You don't wanna go. Why? You in a lotta pain?"

"No," I say quickly, even though yes , I'm in a fair bit. "It's just…"

When she crosses her arms, waiting, I huff.

"I'm the town's new Marjory Bell, Ginnie. I fell in a hole, and the damn Darling Donkey had to rescue me. Excuse me for wanting to hide away for a while instead of facing what I'm sure would be a million pitying sympathies from the well-intentioned folk of Darling freaking Montana."

Her lips twitch.

"What?" I groan.

"You said ‘folk.'"

"And?"

Virginia walks over to me, placing her hands lightly on my shoulders, careful of the left side. " And I never thought I'd see the day when my best friend became a part of this life. My life. And I'm selfish, so I like it a whole lot. You're one of us now, baby."

I snort. "Where's my t-shirt?"

"I'll buy you one from the gift shop," she says wryly before letting me go. "Now be honest. How bad's the pain?"

"Everyone and their mothering," I mutter. "My shoulder joint is fine. It's my goddamn back that's fucked all to hell. It's nearly as bad as it was in the beginning."

She winces.

"I'll be fine ," I say. "I've done this song and dance before. I can do it again."

"I'm sorry that you have to," she says seriously. "And it's okay not to be fine , Ash. No one would think less of you for admitting that you're hurting."

I scowl, hating that very thing, and Virginia chuckles.

"Christ," she says. "You look just like him."

I don't even have to ask who . But I do ease up on the scowl.

"If you wanna stay and hide for now, I'm not gonna stop you," Virginia says. "Just… Once you're ready, I'll be here, okay?"

"I know that, Ginnie. You've never not been in my face, and I love that about you."

She snorts. "Love you, too, baby boy. Now get some rest. Go relax or something."

"Relax," I say with a huff. "Everybody wants me relaxed ."

And great . Now I sound like Jackson, too.

Virginia leans in to give my cheek a kiss, and then she heads out of the petting farm. I stick around a minute longer, petting the goats and stopping Snickerdoodle from eating my pocket. I wonder if she's used to a certain someone bringing her treats.

When I get to the ranch house, the eleven o'clock lunch hour is already underway. I slip into the kitchen, not wanting to be seen. Everyone has been perfectly nice since the… incident , but I still feel like an ass. I shouldn't have gone out on my own like that. All I ended up doing was causing everyone—and myself—a world of trouble.

It's a mistake I won't be making again.

The soft sound of feet approaching alerts me that I'm no longer alone. Remi looks surprised to find me lurking in the kitchen.

I offer him a small smile. "Hey, I was just…"

He holds up a finger and presses a button on the device behind his ear. "Sorry, go ahead."

"You didn't have to turn it on for me," I tell him. I wouldn't have minded typing on my phone like I've seen some of the ranchers do when Remi doesn't have his CI on.

"It's no problem," he replies easily.

Still… "You prefer not to use it, though?"

At least, that's the impression I've gotten.

Remi tilts his head back and forth. "It's…complicated. The implant has its uses, that's for sure. But people seem to think I can't exist happily without sound, and that's just not true."

I can't begin to imagine what that's like, but it's clear Remington doesn't view his deafness as a deficit.

"I, uh… I'm trying to learn ASL," I admit, smiling a little sheepishly when Remi's eyebrows fly up. "I'm only on letters, so it might take some time."

He looks at me for a long moment, lips finally lifting at the corners. "Most people don't bother."

"That sucks," I say plainly.

He huffs a laugh. "Kinda. You hiding in here?"

I groan. "Am I that obvious?"

"Little bit. Wanna join me in the studio?"

"The…what?" I ask.

Remi laughs again, walking over to the pantry. He grabs a box of crackers and a bag of chips and then waves me forward.

Curious, I follow the youngest Darling brother down the hall, past the bustling dining room and up to the second floor. He opens the door at the end of the hallway, and we climb up a narrow set of curving stairs. My mouth falls open when I see what I assumed was an attic but is in fact a wide-open room beneath the pitched roof of the house. Canvases of all sizes are stacked around the space, paint splotches dried everywhere .

"An art studio?" I ask.

Remi nods, setting the snacks on the floor before walking forward. "Keeps me busy when I'm not with the animals. You can hide up here if you want."

Awed, I take a seat as Remi pulls a canvas away from the wall and sets it on an easel. Seemingly unbothered by my presence, he starts uncapping paint bottles. I open the box of crackers, snacking as I watch him work. There are a few small windows running along one wall of the room, right beneath the sloped ceiling, so the space is plenty bright as Remi starts painting. He hums to himself every once in a while, his movements fluid and relaxed.

I'm so caught up in watching him that I don't realize how much time has passed until Jackson suddenly crouches down beside me, startling me as he sets a plate with fruit and a ham sandwich on the floor.

I give him a smile as my heart rate comes down. "Hey," I say quietly. "I'm guessing I missed lunch?"

Jackson hums. "You did. Had to track you down. Wasn't expecting to find you up here."

"Sorry."

He shakes his head. "Nothing to be sorry for. You doing all right?"

I pop a grape into my mouth and nod.

Jackson assesses me for a moment before nodding back. "All right, then. See you soon."

With that, Jackson stands, kissing the top of my head before walking out of the room. I pull the plate of food closer, eating my lunch as Remi paints a field of dandelions beneath a light blue sky.

When Remi heads back to work, I go for another walk around the ranch. I amble up and down the bank of the slow river, which is so shallow in places I'd almost call it a creek. Then I walk the fence line, looking at the cattle and the occasional rancher who passes by.

By the time I get back to Jackson's house, I'm sorer than I want to admit. I wince as I bend to get my boots off, abandoning that plan and kicking them off instead. After getting a drink of water, I decide to take a soak in Jackson's tub, hoping it will help relax my muscles.

And that's exactly how Jackson finds me a good half hour later, the water I'm lying in having cooled to warm instead of piping hot. He squats down beside me, arms on the side of the porcelain tub, his eyes roaming over my naked body for only a moment.

"Need help?" he asks.

"I'm fine," I tell him, pushing upright. I brace my hands on the edges of the tub, and Jackson reaches for me. "I'm fine ."

"Ash—"

"I got it," I snipe.

Jackson doesn't back off. His hand wraps around my bicep to help me stand, and I snap, just a little.

"Goddamn it, Jackson, I said I'm fine ."

He lets go, but he doesn't back up. He stands there, watching as I clumsily get myself to my feet, and then he continues to stand there as I step out of the tub and grab my towel. I wrap it around my waist, pulse racing.

Jackson trails after me like a quiet sentinel as I head to the bedroom, grabbing the same pajama pants I took off this morning. Trying not to show my discomfort, I get them on, followed by a t-shirt. I maneuver the damn sling into place and head toward the kitchen.

Jackson follows.

I open the fridge, looking inside. "I can cook us something. What sounds good?"

"Ash," he says softly.

"I'm not useless, Jackson."

"Ash," he says again, his hand curling over my own on the handle of the fridge.

I close my eyes, unable to stop my breath from puffing out of me as Jackson's body heat lines my back. He feels good. Too good. All I want is to lean into him.

Jackson closes the fridge door, and I let him, the both of us standing still inside his kitchen as the quiet wraps around us. He sets his chin on my shoulder, his arm around my stomach. He doesn't say anything, just holds me, and it's too much.

It's too damn much.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

His lips brush my cheek. "I know."

"I didn't mean to yell."

He nuzzles into my neck, his beard bristling. "I know, sunshine."

"It's just fucking hard sometimes. To think," I tell him, leaning my weight back against his chest. My limbs feel heavy. Everything feels heavy. "When all I can feel is how sore I am, there's no place in my head for anything else. And I pushed myself too hard today because I didn't want to admit I'm not okay. I didn't want to acknowledge the fact that it's going to take months to feel better again. I've been here before, Jackson, and I hate it. I hate how I feel."

His arms never leave me. Neither does he. "What do you need?" he asks, his voice a quiet whisper.

I pull in a breath. Let it out. "I need to rest."

He kisses my cheek again and spins me slowly. "C'mon," he says, his arm around my back.

I let Jackson bring me to bed. I let him grab dinner for us from the ranch house, the both of us eating with our plates resting on the sheets. I let him handle the cleanup alone.

And when he comes back to bed, I ask him to keep me warm.